A New Day at Midnight
Part 10/19
When Mohinder made his threat to call the authorities, he did so with the full intention of following through. But as soon as he heard the door close behind Peter, his resolve drained from him and all he could do was sag into his chair, head in hands, and hide his eyes from the picture that had started it all. That damn picture.
Peter could draw the future. He couldn't get it out of his head. Days passed and though he tried to carry on as normal, the thought kept announcing itself at the most unexpected moments, always as if Mohinder was thinking it for the first time. It never lost its edge. Peter could draw the future.
What that meant for the other drawings he'd hidden, Mohinder couldn't bring himself to consider. He wanted nothing more than to burn them all and never think of them again, but every time he reached for the desk drawer where he'd stowed them away, he'd be overtaken by an uncharacteristic fit of procrastination, suddenly remembering something else he had to do. Something more important like washing the dishes or folding the laundry. Anything that didn't involve thinking about Peter.
Despite his accusations, he had no real hypothesis for why Peter had done what he'd done. Whether he'd really insinuated himself into Mohinder's life to reenact his father's encounter with Sylar or otherwise--it didn't matter. Mohinder had opened himself to Peter in the first place because he'd believed Peter was a kindred spirit, someone who understood what it was like to lose a loved one to one of Them. Knowing the truth made Mohinder feel violated. Even more so because he couldn't deny that what he'd felt for Peter--what he continued to feel--was very real. He'd been taken in and his failure to recognize the monster when he saw it made his stomach turn.
But hadn't he always known? The thought niggled at his mind. While it was true that he'd been unaware of the psychic implications of the drawings when he'd first seen them, hadn't he always known they were special in some unnamable way? He'd seen a story in those drawings and sought to understand what he could of it in a way that could not be attributed solely to his fascination with Peter. So, couldn't the argument be made? Hadn't he always known?
The apartment building where Mohinder and Peter lived required that rent be paid by the week rather than the month. The consequences of Peter's disappearance in terms of his living space didn't fully occur to Mohinder until, after several weeks of delinquency, the landlord started pounding on Peter's door, demanding payment of the money he was owed. Mohinder watched the spectacle from his doorway, half-expecting Peter to emerge with the money in hand. Instead, he felt a detached numbness as the landlord pulled out a master key and entered the space that had belonged to Peter. He was gone for several moments before re-emerging, a look of disgust on his face. When he caught sight of Mohinder, he merely shrugged.
"No body," he said as if this was the most common cause of missed payments. "Looks like the guy just left. All his stuff's still there. Know anything about that?"
Mohinder shook his head, watching as the landlord disappeared down the same set of stairs Peter had so gracelessly tumbled down the first day they'd met. Everything seemed to be attached to a memory these days. He wondered when the involuntary sentimental association would end.
Going back into his apartment, he closed the door behind him and was immediately aware of something being off. Looking to his left, he noticed that one of the windows was open, the autumn air chilling the apartment. Then there was a sound like boots scraping against the floor. Mohinder barely had time to feel the stirring of the air next to him before he was slammed against the wall by an unseen force.
His cry of terror was cut off when he felt something like cold fingers wrap themselves around his throat hard enough to cut off his air and bruise his skin. He gasped and choked, the struggle to breathe dulling somewhat the surprise of seeing a face appear suddenly out of the nothingness before his eyes. Psychotic fury strained his attacker's features, teeth bared behind an unkempt beard as he growled,
"Where is he?"
Mohinder was slammed against the wall again, his head knocking against it hard enough so that bursts of light exploded before his eyes, obscuring what he could see of the other man's face. For an insane moment, he had a flashback of Peter rubbing his head and saying wryly, Wow. I always that that was just a figure of speech. Seeing stars.
"I said where the bloody hell is he?" the man roared again.
Mohinder tried to answer but by then his lungs were burning with the need to take a breath. The world began to fade at the edges before complete darkness rushed upon him. The last thing he heard as he was dropped to the ground was a disgusted, "For fuck's sake."
"Christ, Claude. I can see your fucking handprints on the guy's neck."
"You know how bad this is, right? I mean, you said this guy works for the government. Sooner or later they're going to notice he's missing and when they do they're going to come looking for him."
"I thought you said jealous rages weren't your thing."
"For fuck's sake, will you two shut it already? I've never seen such a pair of drama queens in all my life."
"This is serious, Claude!"
"Well if painter boy here would call off his bloody strike--"
"What? So this is my fault now? You know, maybe if your boyfriend would stop being such a fucking whore all the time I wouldn't have to--"
"Guys, shut up. I think his eyes are opening."
Judging from the slits of light that were now penetrating the darkness Mohinder had been floating in up to this point, he could only assume that this last comment was directed at him. With effort, he was able to open his eyes completely on a world that was stubbornly reluctant to come into focus. Vaguely, he became aware that he was lying atop a soft, flat surface--probably a mattress--and that he was surrounded by three indistinguishable faces, all framed by an array of intense colors. The smell of fresh paint fumes burned his nostrils and he found he couldn't keep back a groan at the throbbing pain in the back of his head.
"You okay, man?" one of the three voices asked warily.
"Are you bloody joking?" a second voice cut in before Mohinder could try to answer. "This bastard may very well have Peter's body stuffed under the sodding floorboards and you're practically asking him over to tea, you are. I thought you were supposed to have training for situations like these, Mother Matt."
Mohinder's vision cleared in time to catch the round-faced man named Matt roll his eyes at the second man's taunting. Meanwhile, a third man--long haired with a thin face covered in streaks of paint--mumbled, "Like you've never killed Peter before."
"Yeah, well, who hasn't?" the second man conceded. Mohinder recognized the bearded man as the one who had attacked him in his apartment in the first place. "But I was trying to make a point at the time. This is entirely different."
Wanting to do something to make his position less vulnerable while the others continued their argument, Mohinder attempted to push himself into a sitting position but was stilled when the throb in the back of his head swelled. Laying back with a groan, he wondered where he was and exactly how long he'd been unconscious.
"Just a couple of hours, give or take."
Mohinder looked up at the man who had spoken--Matt. "What?" he said.
"Oh, uh, you were wondering how long you've been out," Matt said. He cleared his throat. "It's been a couple of hours."
Mohinder blinked. Had he spoken aloud without realizing it?
"No, man," Matt said, tapping his own temple. "I can hear you. What you're thinking."
"Mind reader, mate," the bearded man added in case Mohinder hadn't caught on.
"You mean you're…" Mohinder trailed off, realizing how ridiculous the question was. After all, he'd seen the bearded man appear from thin air right before his eyes. There should have been no doubt as to what kind of people he was talking to. What kind of people he was being held hostage by.
"Listen, we don't want to hurt you," Matt said.
"Not that we won't," the invisible man put in.
Matt ignored him. "See, we're friends of Peter Petrelli. There's something we need to talk to him about and we think you might be able to tell us where we could find him."
"Also, we think you may have stuffed him under the floorboards."
"Claude, seriously--" Matt began.
"Claude," Mohinder said, his spinning mind finally latching on to the familiar name. "You're Peter's friend. The one who came to see him that night--" He cut himself off, thinking of the story Peter had told him about the friend who had brought him news of a niece in trouble. Aware that his thoughts were being scanned, Mohinder made a concerted effort to block out the fact that that had also been the first night he and Peter had slept together but judging from the redness that touched Matt's cheeks, he wasn't entirely successful at doing so.
"Oh lovely," Claude said. "What else did he tell you?"
"He knows about Claire," Matt answered for Mohinder, still picking up on his thoughts.
"Claire," Mohinder said, shaking his head at the unfamiliar name. "I don't know anything about anyone named Claire." This time, when he tried to sit up he managed to at least prop himself on his elbows. It struck him that his captors had not bothered to restrain him and yet he didn't get the feeling they would readily allow him to leave. "What exactly is it that you want with Peter?"
"Claire is Peter's niece," Matt explained. "You need to tell us where he is."
"Don't even think you're leaving until you do," Claude added.
Mohinder looked up at each of the three faces surrounding him and in them he could see the lines of genuine worry and stress, sleep deprivation and even the beginnings of what looked like hopelessness. Mohinder was not exactly comforted by the thought that bringing him here must have been something of a desperate move on their part. Claude had approached Peter once before, asking for his help. Weeks had passed since then and Mohinder could only guess that whatever the situation was, it had grown much worse since that night.
"I haven't seen Peter in weeks," he said finally. "We had an argument. I asked him to leave. I haven't seen him since."
"What did you fight about?" Matt asked, voice neutral.
Mohinder hesitated. He couldn't exactly lie to a man who could read his mind but confessing to his outrage at the discovery of Peter's powers did not seem the most advisable move. Choosing his words carefully, Mohinder went for the most tactful version of the truth he could find.
"We argued about some drawings he'd done. Of the future."
Claude snorted. "I bloody well knew it," he said. "Tell us, Dr. Suresh, which one was it tipped you off? I know you were especially taken with the one of the two stick figures lying in bed but it couldn't have been that. So, was it the grave yard? The screaming girl?"
"It was the car accident," Mohinder answered. "But how do you know…"
"Invisible man," Claude said, fading in and out of invisibility as if to illustrate his point.
"You were spying on me," Mohinder said, a statement rather than a question. "You were in my apartment." He wondered if that had been part of the plan all along. If Peter had known Claude was there, watching him.
"Aye, I was there," Claude acknowledged, remorseless. "Don't worry, though. I didn't stick around for any of the naughty bits. Didn't need to what with Isaac's lovely rendering of one of your more intimate moments. Truly inspiring work."
Isaac crossed his arms belligerently. "Don't even fucking start, man," he said.
"You mean I shouldn't tell the good doctor here that the only reason he's stuck in the junkie motel is because our resident psychic painter has decided at the crucial moment that he's too much of a prude to risk helping us look for our missing boy lest he accidentally paint him once again in the throes of passion--"
"Psychic painter?" Mohinder asked, interrupting Claude's rant. He turned to Isaac, whose eyes burned with impotent fury. "So you're like Peter, then. You can draw the future."
Isaac raised his eyebrows and the three men exchanged looks.
"So he doesn't know everything," Isaac said mysteriously.
Mohinder didn't bother asking what Isaac meant by this, knowing he wouldn't get an answer. As it was, he knew what he had seen, the unmistakable parallels between Peter's drawing and the true scene of the accident. If Isaac could paint the future, that meant he and Peter shared the ability. Except, looking around the loft-like space, Mohinder gathered that Isaac was clearly the more talented of the two, artistically speaking.
"Look," Mohinder said in what was either resolve or resignation. "I obviously don't understand what's going on here. I have nothing of use to offer you. I do have contacts with the government, but I'm not interested in giving them any information about Peter or anything I've seen today. Frankly, I don't even know what it is I've seen."
"Yeah, well, it's not as if we're concerned about that," Claude said. "See, we have a Haitian for that sort of thing. Or we would have if we could find the bloody wind chimes." He glared at Isaac, who rolled his eyes. "Thing is, useless as you are, we'd let you go with no one being the wiser but we think you might be wrong about not having any useful information to offer us. Maybe you don't know where Peter is but you do have this little laptop computer and a portable hard drive, both of which I took the liberty of confiscating from your flat while I was there."
Mohinder raised his eyebrows. "You stole my computer?" he said.
Claude nodded. "I've been watching you and I know how interested the government is in that file of yours," he said. "Well, we're interested in it too, we've decided. So while we're sitting around here waiting for Peter to show up or for his body to surface, you're going to keep up with your work cracking that password, right? Except now you'll be working for us. And doesn't that sound like a bloody barrelful of monkeys?"
"The file is nothing," Mohinder said. "Even the government doesn't think so. They're just using it to keep an eye on me and make sure I don't do something stupid like try to legitimize the evolution of special abilities in the eyes of the general public."
"Even so," Claude said.
After that, there was no more argument.